Unspeakable
by Tommy B 101
Summary: Harry Potter is framed for a murder he did not commit. This time, though, not only the DMLE are after him, but also the Department of Mysteries as well. Slowly, Harry's past as an unspeakable that operated as the head of a strike force emerges, and the team he had once led and once trained, now hunts for him. An action thriller.


A/N: Thanks to the fokes at DLP for helping me with cutting out the crap that doesn't belong. Feel free to criticize this work, as this is the start to a story which I have, somewhat, planned out.

This is non-epilogue compliant. So Harry/Ginny? Not gonna happen. In fact, pairings are nonexistent at this point.

Chapter one.

The Bulgarian Minister for Magic, Simian Peslov always travelled in a Ministry-issued car, magically equipped with expansion charms and magically-strengthened windows that could take the brunt of an armour-piercing round. This was for his protection, incase someone decided that the Minister needed removing. Sure, he could take a portkey, but he preferred traveling in luxury.

"How much longer?" he asked his driver briskly.

"Ten minutes, sir."

"Any problems that could delay our arrival?"

"None, sir," replied the driver promptly.

Despite the driver's reassurance, Peslov could not help but feel a twinge of unease. He peered at the convoy behind him and watched them trail after him.

Every six months, it was the Minister of Magic who made sure that he visited the orphanage for magical children. Always, he brought along his men for the children to interact with. Always, he brought gifts and food and donations for the place. Always, he supported those beneath his station.

"Did you know, Yuri," began the minister. "Since our last visit, the orphanage has gained a rise in population of at least twenty children?"

"Indeed, sir?"

"Yes, Yuri. It's a shame, how many parents desert their children, or die in freak accidents, is it not?"

"Quite a shame, sir," agreed his driver.

They were drawing nearer to a gas station, and Peslov placed his hand on his driver's neatly-pressed shoulder.

"Would you stop here for a moment, Yuri? I need to purchase something to drink."

"As you wish, sir."

The outside of the gas station was deserted, with no sign of any other vehicle. Their doors, however, when Peslov looked, were open. He got out of his car and entered the building.

Two minutes later, he came out, clutching a bottle of iced water. He popped the lid and took a sip.

XXXXX

Mr. Green, Peslov's killer, glared at him as he monitored the situation from a nearby rooftop. This man, Peslov, was paranoid, but for good reason. He had a convoy that homed him in, back and front. His windows were highly defended against high-powered rifles, pistols or, most importantly, magic. Sure, he could send an Avada Kedavra straight through the glass, but that sent subtlety out the window.

Sure, the high-powered rifle wasn't as subtle, but the killing curse could be seen, before it imploded the windows. Unlike a fast-moving bullet, the killing curse could be seen a few seconds before it hit. It was slower and less accurate.

He watched the Minister climb gracelessly into his motor-vehicle and he, Green, disappearated to where the Minister was supposed to be arriving.

The orphanage was a rundown affair, with the uppermost windows missing. Paint pealed in strips off the walls and it looked decidedly uncared for and lopsided. Green waited for the Minister to get out of his car, his potbelly preceding him, and walked into the building, his men following behind. The minister's big mistake was that he left the vehicles unguarded. Incompetent fool, if there ever was one.

Green drew his wand and used it like a blind man to feel the wards on the lock. Usually, technology and magic did not work well together, but since it was such a small amount, it was no problem to erect wards over the doors and windows. Green ran the tip of his wand down the flank of the car. He channelled his magic through the wand and began to probe the strings of wards that threaded across the door's locking mechanism.

Sure, the car was protected, but when the vehicle was idle and nobody was guarding it, it was easy as hell to unravel the wards. The Minister's staff wasn't competent enough to check for wards whenever the minister climbed into the car. All they did was activate a runic sequence on the hood of the car. This, of course was invisible.

He had the door open within two minutes and immediately spotting the waterbottle tucked into the pocket of the driver's seat, he grinned in satisfaction.

In the Minister's grip, the bottle had warmed to about twenty-six degrees Centigrade, by the temperature-detection charm he cast on the bottle. Perfect. There was two-hundred-and-fifty ML. of water left, so Green measured his dosage of sodium Cyanide carefully. He added eighty Mg. of the poison, taking care that he didn't graze the small blocks of it against the bottleneck. Wearing a pair of latex gloves, so that the poison didn't soak through his skin, he used thumb and forefinger to shove the little blocks in. He had had them packed into ten MG. blocks, so they were easily measured, without much work on his part. This meant that they could be administered without slowing him down much.

Green was thankful that Peslov had chosen to buy water and not something with glucose in it. Glucose was a known counter to Cyanide and rendered it ineffective. Also another advantage to this particular poison was that it wasn't easy to detect when it came to the toxicological side of things. It'd keep the magicals guessing for years. Hell, they'd probably not even be able to understand it in the first place.

Then, he had to implement backup plan B. This involved spraying the car-seats with Hydrogen Cyanide, from a normal spray can. He took extra care to spray the top of the seat, where it met the headrest, so that the exposed pores at the back of the neck could absorb it. If Green was lucky, the Minister would be dead inside of ten minutes. Job done.

XXXXX

"Job well done, Mr. Green."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Krum."

Victor Krum grinned. "Now, now, Mr. Green. Feel free to call me Victor. We have been working together for three years, now. Have we not?"

"It is best to remain at a professional distance, Mr. Krum, as you well know."

"But of course, Green! If you insist..."

"I do," Green cut him off. "Now, my payment, if you please?"

"But of course, Mr. Green!" said Krum grudgingly.

Krum reached into the boot of his car and brought out a heavy briefcase, filled to the brim with muggle pound notes.

"Why do you insist on muggle money, Mr. Green?"

"Because," replied Green, looking at Krum as if he were daffed. "Wizarding currency can be traced by goblins and I do not need a burden like those loathsome creatures on my shoulders."

"Reasonable enough," Krum said, his beak-like nose dominating the sharp curves of his smile. How they say in Britain? You no your shit, no?"

Green grinned for the first time that night, not that Krum could see it through the cowl of his unspeakable cloak.

"That's probably what the yanks say, Mr. Krum. But I get the gist, so no worries."

"I have another job for you," said Krum, suddenly.

"Another job?" Green asked, shocked. "So soon?"

"Yes, well... This one's important," Krum defended.

"Alright," sighed Green. "Who's it this time?"

Krum reached back into the car and pulled out another briefcase. From it, he extracted a laptop and powered it up. The men waited for the Windows logo to pop up, before Victor got straight to it.

"You see this picture?" Victor Krum asked, jabbing a finger at a picture of a man.

The man was of average height, standing at a reasonable five-foot-nine, with tousled hair and a very distinctive scar. Through wire-rimmed spectacles, Green saw intelligent green eyes peering out at him. The man wore a standard-issue graduation robe, made especially for the occasion of the Hogwarts graduation ceremony.

"H-Harry Potter?" Green asked, for the first time that night surprised.

"Harry Potter, indeed. The slayer of the Dark Lord. The winner of the Order-of-Merlin, first class. Onetime Auror, now Hogwarts professor.

"And you want me to kill him, is that it?"

Victor nodded. "That's it. He's been a thorn in my side for too long."

He scares the shit out of you, more like, thought Green.

"Okay," said Green. "It's going to cost more than a million this time."

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Green. That is why I am offering you five-million to kill Mr. Potter."

"Ten-million," said Green automatically, his bargaining instincts kicking in."

"Seven-million," retorted Victor.

"Eight and I won't settle for less."

"Very well," said Victor, sounding displeased. "Eight-Million it is."

"I accept," Green agreed. "I'll let you know when the job is done."

XXXXX

"The expelliarmus spell, the disarmer as Aurors dub it, can be a very dangerous spell, if used for nefarious purposes."

Harry stared at his fifth-year defence against the dark arts class. He stood on a slightly-raised podium behind his huge oaken desk. Students sat in wooden chairs, their undivided attentions focused solely on him.

"If, say, you over-power the spell, you can hurl a person up to fifty feet or less, depending on the body mass and the juice you throw into it. Expelliarmus can be an Auror's best friend or his worst enemy. It can get him a recommendation or a dishonourable discharge from the Auror service."

Harry raised his wand and pointed it at a wooden dummy, which appeared to be holding a vicious-looking blade in his right hand.

"Watch and learn!" said Harry.

With a wave of his wand, the space behind the dummy vanished, leaving a space of about seventy feet behind it, thus adding a slight expansion to the class. He aimed his wand at the dummy and gathered his magic.

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted.

The dummy flew back some fifty-five feet, before it fell into a pit that Harry had conjured in the nick of time.

"Now," said Harry, after the dust had settled. "If that hole was the edge of a cliff, the dummy would be plunging to its death."

Their collective eyes followed his movements as he replaced the dummy in its brackets with a deft flick of his wand, repaired the floor and replaced the wall that he had moved.

"If you're desperate, guys, Expelliarmus is not the spell to use, because you could screw it up."

After class, Harry was walking down a corridor, when he saw a pair of bullies confront one of his students. Arthur Reynolds was cornered against the wall, with two students holding him there with the tip of their wands.

"Think you're better than us, do you, you filthy mudblood?"

They hadn't noticed Harry, yet, so he drew his wand, ready to disarm them in a trice, but Reynolds' words stopped him.

"Yes, Goyle. I do." His words were spoken softly, a timid whisper compared to the bigger boys' baritones. "I know I'm better than you, for your sheer lack of morality speaks for itself."

"Such big words you use, Mudblood," said Arnold Nott. "Maybe we should cut your tongue out? Then we'll see how smart you are!"

"That's enough, boys!" said Harry. And with a flick of his wand, the boys' wands soared towards Harry.

The two boys pealed back from Arthur Reynolds, and Harry observed the terrified, but defiant, expression on his face.

"That'll be fifty points from Slytherin, Mr. Nott and Mr. Goyle. Oh, and detention for the rest of the month."

"What for!" demanded Goyle in a gruff bellow.

"For bullying a fellow student, Mr. Goyle."

Goyle was about to open his mouth to protest, but Nott, the smarter of the two, lay a ready hand on the bigger kid's shoulder.

"Yes, Professor," said Nott Meekly, but Harry wasn't fooled for a minute.

"Good lads. Now, off to your next class, if you please!"

No matter how much time had passed since his years as a student at Hogwarts, nothing much changed. Harry tossed the wands to the boys, hilt first. He glared after them as they slunk out of sight, their protests and irritable swearing echoing back at Harry.

"Are you okay, Arthur?" Harry asked, gazing kindly at the boy who had, moments ago, been pinned to the wall.

"I'm fine, Professor," Gulped Arthur Reynolds.

Arthur was an orphan, like Harry, so their relationship was a bit more informal than teacher and student. If Harry was to compare him to any one he knew, he'd have to admit that the kid reminded Harry of himself and Hermione. Brave, intelligent and very defiant. Arthur stuck to his guns and did not let other kids bring him down. But Harry could see sometimes the vulnerable chinks in Arthur's armour. He saw the armour ripple as verbal blow after hex struck it and he could sense the torment beginning to seep in through the cracks.

"Walk with me, will you?" said Harry.

He spun on his heel and walked down the several flights of stairs, till they arrived at the entrance hall. They exited through the swinging doors and into the courtyard, packed with students who happened to have a free period. Arthur was the first to shatter the comfortable silence that walked between them.

"Professor, what did you use to make the wands fly towards you like that?"

"Well, at first, I started off with a summoning charm, which allowed me to yank the wands out of their hands. Then, I cancelled the charm, used a levitation charm to tug them towards me, and... Yeah! That's about it."

"But why the levitation charm, Professor? Couldn't you have just gone along with the summoning charm?"

"Arthur," said Harry, clapping the younger boy on his shoulder. "I can control the distance of my summoning charm, but I cannot control the..."

"Speed!" said Arthur, getting it. "If you had gone along with it, the wands could have veered upward and hit you in the eye... Or," he laughed suddenly. "Up the nose!" he finished.

"Indeed," said Harry, his lips curled in amusement. "You certainly catch on fast, don't you?

The bell rang, suddenly interrupting their conversation.

"Gotta go, Professor. Charms next."

"Okay, Arthur," said Harry. "You have a good day, now."

"You as well, Professor."

Harry watched the boy walk away with a nostalgic smile on his face. He leaned forward, bracing his arms against a tree. He gazed up at the sunlit sky, with barely a cloud peeping through.

XXXXX

A glamour did the trick and Green was passed the students that were walking to their classes. He had marked Potter's position and he was heading there.

The class was deserted and for that, he was ever so thankful. He cracked open the window, letting the heat from the sun through. He drew his wand from a holster strapped to his right wrist, and an odd device from his left pocket. He rested his cheek against the shaft of the wand and fit the device over the tapered end of his wand. The eyepiece was one half of a pair of omnioculars, with the dials and knobs still attached to it. He squinted down the sight and adjusted the range with a twirl of a dial. He homed in on the figure leaning against the tree, his head appearing between the fork of two branches that rose up from the thick trunk that shielded the rest of his body from view.

He took a deep breath, channelled his magic through his wand and made a quick calculation. Taking another deep breath, he whispered the spell, "Depulso."

XXXXX

Harry was a lucky man. As soon as the piercer headed for him, he had heard a rustling from behind him. Turning in surprise, he had seen a paper airplane fly towards him, thrown by a seventh-year girl. This meant that the curse impacted the right branch and left a neat, galleon-sized hole. Immediately, he drew his wand and began zigzagging his way to where the spell had come from.

Green swore and watched Potter sprint towards him. Cursing, he ripped off the eyepiece, waved his wand over the windowsill and sprinted out of the classroom. Potter had traced the trajectory of the spell by glancing at the angle at which the branch had been drilled. The distance at which the curse had exploded out of the treebranch had allowed him to determine that the his would-be killer was on the fourth floor in an abandoned classroom. And now, Potter, who wasn't supposed to do what he just did, was coming to look for him. Green exploded down the third floor and saw Potter running in the opposite direction to ascend the spiral staircase behind Green. Potter hadn't noticed him yet, so if Green made it fast, he could get away.

XXXXX

Harry hit the classroom running, his wand out and ready to smite his would-be killer. The class was deserted and he swore viciously under his breath. Walking over to the windowsill, where the dust appeared to be disturbed, he stuck his head out of the window and saw the tree that he was standing behind. Harry knew that it was luck that had saved his arse, simply because this guy was good. He had a good eye for firing and that was a valued skill among Aurors and Unspeakables alike.

Harry pulled his head back in and waved his wand over the hole classroom, erecting perimeter wards to alert him, incase he was interrupted while getting to work. He did it carefully though, lest he disrupt the magical signature of the person who had fired out of this window.

That done, he got to work, trying to get a read on the signature. It appeared warped and distorted, much like a smudged fingerprint and could offer him nothing. He looked at patch of missing dust, presumably where the killer had rested his elbow, and determined that the killer was of average build, due to the size of the depression his elbow had left. In fact, when Harry put his elbow there, it was almost a perfect match.

XXXXX

"I need to floo over to Kingsley's," Harry told Minerva, donning his informal robes.

"Okay, Harry," she said. "You be careful now."

After Minerva had left his quarters, Harry donned his Auror-issued holster, strapped a backup wand to his left wrist and was ready.

"Problem at Hogwarts," the patronus said. "Can I come through and see you?"

Harry sat down in an armchair, wand drawn and laid across his thigh for the return patronus.

"Sure, Harry. Just give me five minutes."

It was six o'clock that evening, so Kingsley would be at home. Harry counted down the minutes on the old watch Molly had gifted him with on his seventeenth birthday and got ready to rock.

Harry had gotten used to floo travel, what with being an Auror and... He cut that line of thought off. So, it was with Grace that he stepped out of the Shacklebolt's fireplace and into their comfortable living-room. A wizarding wireless played an old wizarding tune, but Harry tuned it out in favour of listening for sounds around the house.

"Kingsley!" called Harry.

Nothing. He proceeded down the corridor to Kingsley's study.

"Kingsley? Michelle?"

Nothing. Harry was getting a bad feeling and drew his wands on instinct. He opened the door and... There Kingsley was, slumped over his desk, with his head resting on it. A hole was drilled clean through his head. Brainmatter had dribbled onto the desk and coated the paperwork. His body was still twitching as Harry approached.

"Son of a bitch!" Harry shouted.

He was shocked, but not surprised. Dead bodies were a regular occurrence when he had worked for the ministry. It was more the fact that it was Kingsley, top Auror and head of DMLE. Carefully, Harry reached out a hand and touched his shoulder. Still warm. Was the killer still in the house?

"Hominum revealeo," he said on reflex.

A haze appeared around Kingsley's body and another tendril led out of the study. Leaving Kingsley for the moment, he followed it to a bedroom, where he found her.

Michelle Shacklebolt lay on the bed, a pool of blood spreading around her inert form.

"Michelle?" he whispered softly.

By the amount of blood lost, Harry figured that Michelle had to be dead, but he had to check. He walked to the side of the bed, careful not to tread in one of the puddles of blood that was just now beginning to seep into the rug. He grabbed her wrist and felt for a pulse under the warm flesh. Nothing, so she was definitely dead.

XXXXX

"It is done, sir," said Kingsley's killer. "Green looks to have failed to kill his target."

"Good man, Nicolai. So, it's plan B, as I thought it would be."

"Yes, sir."

"Good job, Nicolai. Come back home."

"Yes, sir," said Nicolai.

Krum hung up and Nicolai pocketed his mobile.

Originally, Green was supposed to kill Potter and Nicolai was supposed to kill Shacklebolt. If Green had failed, which was likely, and which was the case now, then Potter was to be framed for the murder. Krum had counted on Harry going to his old friend, Kingsley, to report the failed assassination attempt, which Potter had done. So, it was with a feeling of satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment that Nicolai watched Harry blunder about the house, casting detection spells and diagnostic charms, thus impregnating the house with his magical signature. Potter was going down for sure.

XXXXX

The cracks of apparition could be heard from Kingsley's study. This signalled the Aurors' arrival. Harry, suddenly realising how bad the situation was, disillusioned himself and began to walk towards the basement, where Kingsley had had an escape root installed if their house was under attack. Kingsley was the head of DMLE, so his list of enemies grew daily.

In the basement, Harry could hear the footsteps above stamping on the floorboards. Muffled shouts and exclamations told him that it was time to go. Waving his wand at a wall on the farside of the basement, he exposed a pad of glittering runes that signified numbers. Walking forward, he tapped out: One; two; two; four; two.

The wall disappeared soundlessly, and Harry stepped into the tunnel that led downward and out of hearing range of the Aurors. Harry knew that he was compromised and that someone had screwed him over. All this was no coincidence. Someone trying to kill him and now someone trying to frame him.

XXXXX

Auror Greenberg waved his wand around the place, recording and capturing the magical signatures that appeared like livewires in mid-air before him. The wires of magical signature began to coalesce into one tendril, which he placed into a magically protected sphere. Placing the sphere in a plastic bag, he placed unbreakable charms and other protection charms to make sure that the package, when delivered to the magical forensics lab, got there unharmed.

"Christ!" said Ted Shelton. "Who'd have the balls to kill Shack?"

"Buggered if I know, mate," said Greenberg. "Someone who's looking for shit, that's for damn sure!"

"Bloody hell! Do you know what publicity this will bring?"

"Yep, I do," agreed Greenberg. "And right now, the press sniffing around our department is the last thing we need at this moment."

"Agreed," said Shelton, his wand waving in the general direction of Kingsley's body. "Found something!" he crowed.

"What! What! What!"

"Calm down! A print!"

"A print?"

"Yeah, a print!"

"Run it through..."

"Yeah, yeah, magical database. I know!"

Greenberg drew a flip-open pad from the inner pocket of his Auror-issued robes. He flipped it open, and glanced at the strips of ink.

"Here," he said, offering the device to Shelton. "Use mine."

Shelton pulled his wand back slightly, so that the print unstuck from Shacklebolt's shoulder. He twisted his wand, so that the print was horizontal and pressed the pad of ink on the farside to the underside of the print. As Shelton watched, the print appeared in the ink. He tapped it with his wand and a streak of light left the device.

"Now, we wait," said Greenberg.

They had dubbed this particular device the print-identifier. What it did was it took a photograph of the print and drew on the wizard's magic, whoever was holding it, to send a modified patronus charm. The charm soared to the DMLE, where it was received by another device, similar to what Shelton was holding now. The lid on the other device slammed shut and it was fed into the magical database, where all wizard's fingerprints were located after the end of the second wizarding war, and came out with information on that witch or wizard. And if, say, that person had been using Polyjuice and their DNA was changed, they could always fall back on magical signature.

The PI buzzed and Shelton flipped it open. When he saw the name printed on the strip of ink below the one with the fingerprint, he gasped and nearly dropped it.

"H-Harry James Potter!" he read aloud.

An hour later, when the results for the magical signature that Greenberg had picked up returned, the PI was proven correct. Harry James Potter was indeed involved somehow with Shacklebolt's murder. An All-points bulletin was immediately put out.

"Wanted in connection with the murder of Kingsley Shacklebolt."

XXXXX

Croaker could believe that Harry Potter, former Auror and unknown to everybody else, unspeakable could kill Shacklebolt. The motive, though, eluded him. Weren't Shacklebolt and Potter friends? Or mentor and protégé? Either way, they had a relationship that seemed, on the surface, to be going okay.

And if Potter killed the head of DMLE, who else was he planning to murder in cold blood? It was time to take action. It was time to turn the trainees against their trainer.

XXXXX

Within four hours, posters with Harry's picture were plastered to almost every building and shop front in every wizarding establishment. Harry was, as of now, effectively cut off from any wizard that knew his face. It was now time to put his past as a muggle to good use. Promising to thank the Dursleys' when this was all over, he set off into muggle parts unknown.


End file.
